


Together

by moonside



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Dom/sub Undertones, M/M, Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Promptis - Freeform, Title Kink, brotherhood-era smut, i get sappy at the end, praise kink prompto, slightly rough sex, worshipping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-28
Updated: 2017-11-28
Packaged: 2019-02-07 21:54:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12850290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonside/pseuds/moonside
Summary: “Long day, huh?” Prompto says quietly. “Must be hard. Being future king. You wanna be worshipped some, don’t you, highness?”Noctis doesn’t bother to deny it.





	Together

**Author's Note:**

> I WANTED PROMPTIS THE OTHER DAY, AND I COULDN'T QUITE DECIDE IF I WANTED SOFT KISSES OR ROUGH SEX OR WHAT SO I JUST DEFAULTED TO TITLE KINK AND LET THE BOYS HAVE FUN AND THIS HAPPENED. <3

Most things in Noct’s life aren’t easy. Even though he’s the crown prince, it’s come at a cost, and most of his peers are happy enough to stare from a distance and whisper about how nice it must be, to be born into a life of privilege, Noct _hates_ it.

 

There’s one thing that comes easily to him, though, and that’s his friendship with Prompto Argentum. They fall into each other’s lives, and from then on, they’re attached at the hip. For the goddamn first time in Noct’s life, he has a _best friend,_ one who isn’t on payroll for the crown. He feels _normal,_ playing video games and talking about girls and comics and wasting time doing the things kids their age do. They become regulars at a trashy diner halfway between school and Noct’s big, fancy apartment, and they haunt arcades and cheap movie theatres. Even though their tastes in movies initially clash – Prompto likes romcoms _way_ too much, and Noct’s into horror flicks – they even manage to find a happy medium there. Noct makes fun of dumb romance movies and then Prompto buries his face in Noct’s shoulder and hides under the blankets and clings to him, and it works out. They laugh about it, and they give each other knowing smiles, and things are _good._

Noct’s worried, when they start kissing, that things are going to change. He should know better, but he’s half-terrified that it’s going to ruin the one good thing he’s ever had. Prompto’s lips feel good against his though, and his cheeks flush bright red, making the freckles stand out stark, and all the fear turns warm in Noct’s belly and melts away.

 

“Noct,” Prompto mumbles against his lips, as they sprawl together. It’s afternoon, or, well, maybe it’s evening now. Time tends to jumble together when they’re like this, curled up on Noct’s couch. There’s no school today, and Prompto had showed up before Noct had gotten out of bed – he has a key – and brought takeout and video games. Noctis had made it from the bed to the living room, still wearing sweatpants and an old t-shirt, all wrapped up in blankets and hair tousled. The video game, of course, had kept their attention for all of ten minutes, before Prompto had smiled at him _that_ way, and Noctis had leaned in, and now they’ve been lazily making out the entire damn day.

 

Their lips are chapped and a bit raw, but Noct doesn’t care. His body’s thrumming with a fire, low-burning and steady, and he’s _very_ well aware of Prompto pressed up close, curled around him. It’s a little weird, but they’ve already fumbled their way through the awkward boner stage, and Prompto doesn’t seem to care that Noct’s half-hard against his thigh. Eventually, when it gets too heated, they’ll have to stop, and Noct will probably go take a shower, and work one off, gasping and leaning heavily against the wall. For now, though, he’s just enjoying the taste of Prompto’s mouth on his, the quiet, appreciative sounds he’s making, the appealing flush of red over his cheeks.

 

“Like it when you do that,” Noctis mumbles, belatedly, drawing back from the kiss, their foreheads pressed together. The sun’s setting, and the apartment is getting dim, but this close, he can still make out every detail of Prompto’s lidded eyes, the thick curl of lashes, the way his gaze shifts and intensifies as their eyes meet.

 

“When I do what?” Prompto tips his head a little, but his arms are curled around Noct’s neck, and his fingers play with the hair at the nape of his neck, tangling and tugging a little. It makes Noctis groan, and Prompto takes the initiative, diving back in for another kiss, messier now. Their tongues tangle and they both sigh, lips slick with saliva as they part, both of them panting.

 

“When you say my name like that,” Noctis replies, and he steals another kiss, but this one’s chaste, just a quick press of closed lips.

 

Prompto flushes brighter, but he laughs a little, burying his face in the crook of Noct’s neck.

 

“ _Noct,”_ Prompto says, in that tone, and the heat spreads through Noctis again. It’s centering in his chest, making his heart flutter and his ribs ache in a strange way, but there’s a tight knot forming in the pit of his belly too, and there’s a throbbing, needy and desperate, between his thighs.

 

“Prom, fuck, you’re gonna be the reason I fail at this whole king thing someday, y’know,” Noctis half-grumbles, but he’s smiling. Prompto tenses, just for a moment, but then he lifts up and he’s kissing Noctis again. Noct’s got a hand on Prompto’s hip. His shirt’s ridden up just enough to reveal a delicious little sliver of skin and Noct’s thumb is rubbing circles over the jut of hipbone. It’s driving Prompto crazy, and it’s driving Noctis crazy too, and all implications of the words are lost.

 

Noctis doesn’t wanna be king. He wants to keep kissing Prompto, and it’d be nice to keep doing _more_ things with Prompto, but it’s hard to think about anything else. After all, right now, this comes easily, and even if it should fuck things up, it doesn’t.

 

\---

 

At some point, the making out leads to heavier petting, and that leads _further._ It’s all easy though. It’s all _way too fucking stupidly easy._ There’s never any real hesitance, never any fear, because they’ve been kissing for a while, and they’ve chased away all the fears with lips locked and increasingly brave wandering hands. Insecurities? Yeah, those exist. How can they _not_ exist, given what Noctis is, and what this relationship is?

 

But when they tumble into bed together for the first time, it’s not uncertain. Neither of them doubt this. It’s awful and fumbling at first, all sloppy kisses and fingers that haven’t quite figured out the best way to touch, and _way_ too much lube. They ruin the sheets, and they only get off because their young and they’ve waited so long for this.

 

But after, lying in bed, Noctis asks, “was that okay?” and Prompto leans over – wincing a little, from both the ache, and the fact that his elbow lands in the wet spot – and kisses him.

 

“I _think_ it was okay,” Prompto teases, and Noct’s stomach drops for a split second, but then he grins, “we should probably go again, though. Just to make sure.”

 

So, they go again. And then _again_ after that. And somehow, lazy days spent together turn into lazy _nights_ spent together. Eventually, Prompto’s stuff starts making its way into Noct’s apartment. Ignis never comments, even when he does the laundry and it’s half Prompto’s stuff. He simply leaves neat, folded piles of clothing at the foot of the bed.

 

Noctis hastily cleans out a drawer one day for Prompto. He pushes half the stuff in his closet to the side, too, to make more room, and it’s _super_ obvious to everyone. They think they’re being sneaky, but really? Noctis just has the best fucking friends in the world. His dad does his best, too, to make him happy, so they all simply let Noctis have this, for as long as he can.

 

And Noct? He’s as happy as he can be, with his fate looming over him. This is important to him. Prompto is so goddamn important. When their fingers are twined together, when Noct’s sweat-streaked face is pressed into Prompto’s shoulder, gasping and biting as his hips slam forward? Nothing else seems quite as important, and the future doesn’t seem so damning.

 

Of course, the seasons change, and time slowly passes, and Noct’s coming into his role, like it or not. He _doesn’t_ like it. Slowly, his duties become more time-consuming, more _pressing._ Noctis is exhausted a lot of the time. He’d spent a lot of his younger years wondering why his dad’s so distant, so busy, so _tired._ Already, Noct’s beginning to understand. The magic’s sparking to life in him. It grows stronger, and it makes Noct feel like he’s less of a person, more a vessel for this ancient power, stuck doing its bidding, cursed to feed his own life force into powering it. He has a lot of thoughts about the crystal, and a lot of regrets, but when he’s with Prompto, they aren’t quite as overwhelming.

 

Today though, Noct’s dad has pulled him aside, and he’s told him that eventually, there’s going to be a political marriage. There _has_ to be. Insomnia’s been closed off from the rest of the world, and it’s their last-ditch attempt at _peace._ The word, peace, it means a lot to Noct’s dad. Hell, it means a lot for Lucis. Noctis knows he can’t throw this away.

 

It means things with Prompto are gonna get fucked up.

 

“Not for a while,” his father says, a hand heavy on his shoulder, “but… Noctis. You should be prepared, when it happens,” and the look he gives him, it makes Noctis realize, with a start that his dad _knows._ Fuck. It’s a permission, of sorts, to simply enjoy what he has, Noctis knows that much. He might not act the part, but he’s royalty, born and raised, with schooling and training, and he understands the nuance of words, he knows how to read between the lines, to figure out what’s being said, unspoken.

 

He doesn’t want any of this. He thinks his dad wants better for him.

 

But. _Peace._

 

It has to happen.

 

Prompto’s home before Noctis, even though it’s one of the days he works at his part time job after school. Noctis had gone straight up to the citadel. He’s on the way home, his blazer unbuttoned, his dress shirt wrinkled, tie loosened. He kicks his shoes off the second he’s inside.

 

Noct’s mind is going in a hundred different directions. Should he tell Prompto? Should he break it off _now,_ before it gets too bad? That’s not a real question, of course, because _no,_ he shouldn’t, and _yes,_ it’s already gotten too bad. There’s already hearts being broken, here, and Noctis isn’t dumb enough to lie to himself about that. Is he going to lose his best friend? _When?_ How long?

 

Prompto’s sitting on the couch. He’s shirtless, wearing a pair of Noct’s old sweatpants. They hang low on his hips. Prompto’s always been a little more adventurous, and he’s got a bit of a wild side. There’s piercings in his ears, and he _might_ have been the primary influence in the studs that line Noct’s ears as well now. Prompto’s moved on to surface piercings, and the studs that dot the sharp curve of his hip make Noct’s stomach do a heavy, heated flip.

 

“Hey!” Prompto says, brightly. He’s playing some video game or another, but he pauses it and looks up as Noctis kicks his shoes off, pulling his socks off with them, _his feet hurt,_ and tosses his blazer over the back of a kitchen chair.

 

Their eyes meet, and suddenly, Noctis knows _exactly_ what he needs right now.

 

Prompto must know, too. They know each other damn well. They’re practically attached at the hip, and they’ve already come such a long way from first fumbling touches. Prompto swallows – even from a distance, Noct can see the bob of his throat – and Noctis stretches his arms over his head lazily, his back popping with a sharp sound. Already, the air’s taking on that strange, electric quality that it does when emotions are running high, when Noct’s slipping into a certain mindset.

 

Nobody ever really told him about this particular side-effect of the magic. His dad had always said, _‘it’s a part of you,’_ but he’d left out the part where it’s tangible in the air, where it smells vague like ozone and it tingles on his skin, prickling and making the air itself feel vibrant and alive. It’s addictive, too, and Noctis hates to admit it.

 

“Come to bed?” Noctis asks, and his voice has dropped an octave, taken on a rougher quality.

 

“Yeah,” Prompto says, immediately, and he doesn’t bother with saving his game or whatever; he simply puts down the controller, and then he’s standing, hips swaying as he reaches for Noct’s hand. Their fingers tangle, and Noct _squeezes,_ a little rough, as Prompto tugs him through the apartment and down the hall to his – _their –_ bedroom.

 

They’re probably too young for this. There’s no way they should be in as deep as they are, given the circumstances, given how little _life experience_ the both of them really have. Of course, Noctis feels so fucking old, so fucking weary from everything thrown in his way, and Prompto’s just so damn eager to please him, he isn’t considering any of that.

 

Instead, Prompto’s curling an arm around his neck, and Noct’s surging to life. There’s magic sparking in his veins, as Noct’s head ducks down, as he steals a kiss, deep and needy. It’s rough, almost borderline violent, the way his teeth sink into Prompto’s lower lip, dragging it out, tongue delving. Prompto gasps though, and by now, they trust each other. If he wanted Noctis to stop, he’d say something.

 

Prompto isn’t asking Noct to stop though. Instead, an arm is curled around his waist, stroking the small of his back, fingers working to tug at his shirt. It’s still half-tucked in at the back, but Prompto’s fingers are quick and clever, and when he brushes over heated, sensitive skin at the base of Noct’s spine, it has Noctis spiraling faster, further. The kiss breaks, and their lips are already a bit kiss-swollen, their hearts hammering and breath coming in quick puffs.

 

“Prom,” Noctis says, and it’s in a certain tone, one that Prompto knows well enough. They’ve been pushing further and further, toeing a line that, in all honesty, they’re both _certain_ they’ll cross, inevitably, one way or another.

 

Prompto shudders, visibly, in response. There’s a heartbeat’s worth of silence between them, their foreheads pressing together, their eyes locking. Noctis doesn’t need to see his reflection to know that his eyes are shining a faint violet, because he can feel it. More than that, Prompto looks _eager,_ drifting into a certain place of his own. Noct’s hips rock forward, grinding his half-hard cock into Prompto’s own growing interest, and they _both_ sigh.

 

“Highness,” Prompto says, breaking the silence, and it’s _just_ what Noct’s been craving. Fuck. Prompto knows what he needs, every time, and the heat’s centering in Noct’s belly now, pooling, his cock swelling in his pants, pressing urgently against the seam.

 

“ ‘s that what I am?” Noctis replies, breathless, urgent, and his voice drops a little lower, from his usual casual tone, into something _harder._ It’s his ‘future king’ voice, the one that comes out when he needs to act assured and confident. He needs to work on the voice, he’s been told. Noctis needs to work on acting more _confident._

This is good practice, right?

 

“Yeah,” Prompto agrees breathlessly, and then, saying it again, a little breathier, _“highness.”_

 

It’s a miracle Noct’s legs work, but he’s going back down for another kiss, drawing back almost instantly with a sharp drag of Prompto’s lip, turning them and pulling Prompto with him until the back of Noct’s legs hit the bed. Noctis sits down heavily, and Prompto only stands before him for a moment, before getting the message.

 

Prompto looks _damn_ good on his knees in front of him. Noctis doesn’t think he’ll _ever_ get tired of the view. His hair’s mussed, bangs long and fallen over his eyes. Noct’s hand is steady as he traces the tip of his thumb over one high cheekbone, following the dusty trail of freckles, and Prompto sighs, shifting a little, lifting his chin and meeting Noct’s gaze again.

 

“Long day, huh?” Prompto says quietly. “Must be hard. Being _future king._ You wanna be worshipped some, don’t you, highness?”

 

Noctis doesn’t bother to deny it. He isn’t hiding the way his eyes widen a little at the obvious implication. There’s thick tension in the air, for a long moment, as they look at each other, but Prompto’s lips are quirked up into a smile that he can’t quite hold back, and his hands are kneading at Noct’s inner thighs, through his pants.

 

Noct’s so goddamn hard. He shouldn’t be fully aroused, just from this, but hell, Prompto does this to him.

 

“Wouldn’t mind a little worshipping,” Noct replies, slowly, his voice dripping some lazy, kingly petulance. His fingers trace over the curve of Prompto’s jaw, middle and forefinger teasing as they brush over Prompto’s lips. Prompto, the _tease_ he is, opens his mouth, his tongue darting out to curl around Noct’s fingers, as he draws the digits into his mouth, suckling at them.

 

It’s hot and wet and Noct’s even _harder_ now, achingly so, his cock leaving a little damp mark against the front of his trousers.

 

Prompto lets out a needy sigh as Noct’s fingers slip from his mouth with a wet popping sound. Their eyes meet again, and there’s magic sparking between them. They’re toeing a line here, one that they keep pushing a little further, when Noct gets like this. Prompto _knows_ what Noct craves, and he’s so happy to give it.

 

Hell, Noct’s pretty sure, by now, that Prompto’s craving this too, but that part, the talking about it bit, that comes a lot harder.

 

“Highness,” Prompto breathes, and Noct sucks in a sharp breath. Prompto’s gaze lowers, as he leans in, nuzzling at Noct’s inner thigh, nudging his legs further apart to settle more fully before him. Even through the fabric of his dress pants, Noct can feel hot breath over his skin, can feel the delicious brush of friction. He’s going a little crazy waiting, and he knows that’s the damn _point._

“Prom,” Noct hisses, impatiently, and it makes Prompto _laugh,_ damn him, but his fingers are working up now, tracing rough patterns over his inner thighs, settling to work at the button of Noct’s pants, ever-so-intentionally brushing over the heavy bulge.

 

“So impatient,” Prompto teases, lighthearted, but he’s slipping into a subservient place, eager to please, and when Noct’s fingers tangle in his hair now, giving an experimental, _rough_ tug, a quiet moan slips out. It’s confirmation that yeah, Prompto wants _this._ Eager fingers tug his erection free, and Noct groans at the sensation of being freed, his cock settling hard and heavy against his belly. Prompto’s working at his pants, and Noctis lifts up enough for them to be pushed down his thighs, before he’s settling down again.

 

“ _Prom,”_ Noct says, his voice harsher than expected, but Prompto only shudders in response and looks at him, eagerly.

 

“ _Please?”_ Prompto asks, quietly, and Noct tugs his hair sharply again. That’s all the answer he needs, and he leans forward, fingers curled around the base of Noct’s cock, holding him in place, lips closing around the swollen, leaking head.

 

Prompto’s good at giving head. _That_ bit is nothing new. There’d been a bit of initial fumbling, some give-and-take as they’d learned it together, but at the end of the day, Prompto _enjoys_ doing it, and that’s most of the goddamn battle, right there.

 

Noct’s hips lift in response to the first bit of hot, wet friction, as Prompto sinks down, taking him fully into his mouth. His tongue swirls, working a heavy wet stripe along the sensitive underside as he moves, swallowing Noct’s cock down to the very base. Noctis hisses when the sensitive tip of his erection bumps the back of Prompto’s throat, and how the hell Prompto doesn’t gag, he _still_ doesn’t know. But instead, Prompto simply lifts his eyes – wet at the corners, watering heavily, but all lidded and needy anyway – and kneads his fingers into the sensitive skin of Noct’s now-exposed inner thighs. The dual sensation is a little overwhelming, but then again, the whole scene is.

 

Noctis _almost_ wants to preserve this moment, these seconds of Prompto going down on his cock all the way to the hilt. His lips are stretched wide, and he’s giving Noctis the most sinful, needy expression, and his mouth is hot and tight. But of course, Prompto starts to _move,_ and it only gets better.

 

It’s wet and messy, just like Noctis likes it, with saliva pooling at the corner of Prompto’s mouth, making his chin wet and slick. It sounds lewd, Prompto lifting almost entirely off his cock, tongue swirling around the engorged head, dipping into the slit to gather up precome – making Noct’s hips jerk forward, sudden and violent – and under the crown, before Prompto’s sinking back down. His tongue’s tracing heavy veins underneath, curling as best as he can around Noct’s shaft, and Prompto bottoms out again, only for a second, a bit of delicious friction as Noct’s cock bumps the back of his throat, before he’s moving again. It’s messy and a bit frantic, but there’s a definite rhythm to it. Noct’s lifting his hips into it – he knows Prompto can take it, that he won’t choke him – and his cock is twitching eagerly, leaking into the welcoming heat.

 

“Fuck,” Noct swears, when one of Prompto’s hands shifts from rubbing at the inside of his thigh to cup his balls. They’re wet from the saliva dripping down the side of his cock, and the touch is slick, as Prompto’s fingers roll and tug at the sensitive sac. It’s absolutely unfair, really, how good Prompto is. It should be treason.

 

(Realistically, it _might_ be treason, given the nature of their relationship, and that Noct’s the goddamn Crown Fucking Prince, but whatever.)

 

Noct’s not caught up on that. All he can do is tangle his fingers harder in Prompto’s hair, tugging enough that it _hurts,_ that Prompto makes a quiet sound in the back of his throat, slightly pained, a _whole_ lot turned-the-fuck-on. The sound only adds to the pleasure, vibrating all through Noct’s cock, making him twitch and leak another thick strand of precome. His balls are drawing up tight to his body, and Prompto releases them, his fingers slipping _back,_ rubbing firm at Noct’s perineum. The sudden jolt of pleasure takes Noctis by surprise, his cock jerking, and it’s a goddamn miracle he doesn’t come right on the spot.

 

“ _Prom,”_ Noct gasps, and he’s jerking at Prompto’s head _hard,_ pulling his face up and off his aching cock. It takes Prompto by surprise, and he blinks up owlishly at Noctis. His hair’s a total mess, his cheeks are flushed bright red, all covered in displaced saliva, chin and the corners of his lips slick with mess, too. His lips are swollen, from kissing and being face-fucked, and there’s so much need in the look they share, all magic and lidded eyes and tears.

 

“Highness,” Prompto breathes out, “please, I wanna make you feel good.”

 

“C’mere,” Noct says, instead. He wants to spill down Prompto’s throat, yeah. Even _more_ than that, he wants to pull away at the last minute, to curl his fingers around his cock and jerk himself off all over Prompto’s pretty face, staining his freckled cheeks white. Most of _all,_ though, Noct wants to press Prompto’s face into the mattress, to have his ass lifted high in the air while he fucks him.

 

Prompto wobbles a little as he pulls himself to his feet, licking at his lips. He’s still half-dressed, wearing those low-hanging pants, and there’s a definitive bulge in the front, the dark fabric darkened further by the wet spot where the tip of his cock is rubbing aching friction. Noct’s itching to touch, but instead, he slips a hand down, squeezing _hard_ at the base of his own erection, calming himself just a little, just enough to properly last a while.

 

“Strip,” Noct commands, and it’s in a tone that leaves no room for debate or argument.

 

Prompto never _has_ to obey, of course. They suck at talking, but they’ve done enough awkward googling on their phone browsers to know about safe words and tapping out and all that bullshit. They’ve never done it though. And Noctis, quite honestly, doesn’t think Prompto ever will. He _loves_ to please Noct, to have eyes on him. It’s questionable, really, which of the two of them is really benefiting the most out of this arrangement.

 

“Yes, _highness,”_ Prompto replies, quietly, his fingers shaking out of eagerness, not nerves, as he runs a hand down his belly. Noct’s eyes drink it in greedily, watching as Prompto traces over the light definition of his abs – hard-earned, apparently – tracing old, faded silvery-stretch marks, working to thumb at the jut of one hip, to trace the line of piercings down to the band of his pants. The piercings are sensitive, and Noct has one hell of a fascination with them. Prompto knows _that,_ too, because he pauses to tug at the lowest one, sitting just above his pants, whining a little, hips arching forward, in response.

 

“Tease,” Noct accuses, but he’s certainly not complaining.

 

“You _want_ me to put on a show,” Prompto retorts, immediately, his lidded eyes narrowing, and Noct simply smirks, tips his head to the side, and lazily strokes the tip of his forefinger up the underside of his shaft. He _does,_ after all, want just that.

 

Prompto’s good at this, too. Noct’s learned, from previous experience, that Prompto likes having eyes on him. His hips rock again, his fingers lazily toying with the band of his pants, before slipping down again, cupping his cock through his pants, stroking it lazily over the thick fabric of the stolen sweatpants he’s wearing. Only Prompto could make fucking _sweatpants_ look sexy, but they’re hanging so low on his hips, the sharp curve of his pelvis and the light blonde trail of hair disappearing under the band, it’s outright tantalizing. Noct wants to get his hands on Prompto. Instead, he’s rubbing the tip of a forefinger over the tip of his cock, spreading around a fresh smear of precome, and _staring_ Prompto down.

 

Luckily, Prompto’s just as impatient as he is teasing, and it doesn’t take him long to move on. His hips rock forward _again,_ and then he’s easing the band down. His erection’s damn near throbbing, the tip red and swollen, a thin strand of precome smearing across Prompto’s fingers as he reaches down and strokes himself, base-to-tip, thumbing over the slit. Noct hisses as he watches, and he’s got half a mind to tell Prompto _no touching,_ but the sight is goddamn appealing.

 

Instead, Noct pulls his own hand away from his cock. He’s standing up, his eyes flashing dangerous and violet, narrowing as he reaches out to tug Prompto’s hand away. Prompto’s eyes are narrowing too, and there’s a silent challenge between them, but he doesn’t make any attempt to stop Noctis from curling his fingers around a forearm and _tugging._ Prompto takes a step forward, and his legs hit the bed, and he goes down, willingly enough.

 

The show is nice, yeah, but Noct’s slipping into a _mood._ When it takes him, it’s rough and fast and urgent, and Prompto’s no stranger to this. He goes down willingly, and Noct’s hands are tugging at Prompto’s pants, getting them all the way down, Prompto kicking them aside. Noct shoves his pants further down his thighs, but he doesn’t bother to pull them off entirely. His dress shirt’s partially unbuttoned and wrinkled all to hell, and his tie’s still around his neck, but that takes too much damn time.

 

Instead, Noct crawls across the bed, momentarily, just long enough to fumble for the lube, half-assed hidden underneath a stack of magazines in a bedside table, away from Ignis’s eyes. It’s well-used at this point, and Noct returns to where Prompto’s sprawled on his back on the mattress. When they get to this place, both hard and needy and _desperate_ for more, it’s always fast, and even though Prompto hisses when Noct’s hands dig into his hips _rough,_ enough to leave fingerprint-shaped bruises, he still isn’t complaining, when Noct flips him onto his belly.

 

Prompto ruts into the bed, groaning at the friction of his cock grinding into the blankets, and Noct _hisses,_ a hand lifting, smacking at Prompto’s ass with a surprisingly loud crack. It takes the blonde by surprise, but the _whine_ he earns goes straight to Noct’s cock. Prompto likes that, too, the kinky little shit, and he’s quick to rise up onto his knees, his ass lifted into the air, one cheek reddening from the slap.

 

“You want me?” Noctis asks, his voice deadly-quiet, as he uncaps the lube, smearing some of the slick across his fingers. Noctis sucks at words. He sucks at romance, and at dumb things like pet names and endearments. He’s _really_ bad at dirty talk, too, except when he gets in these very specific moods. It might not even be fully Noctis at this point, because the magic sparks around him, burning violet fire in his veins, reflecting in his eyes. He’s a future king, and he’ll be addressed as one, and Noct will _take_ what is his.

 

“Yes, highness,” Prompto replies, instantly, adjusting his stance, spreading his knees a little further, offering himself up. Prompto doesn’t have the magic. He has a subservient side, though, and sometimes he slips _deep_ into it, into the role where he’s all Noct’s, where he exists solely to serve his future king.

 

It’s just what Noct needs, because he _is_ the future king, and it means so much hardship, but right now, it means he gets this, too. He gets _Prompto._

 

Noct laughs a little, as he works two slick fingers in. They do this a lot, and this part had been a learning process, too. There’s been pain – not necessarily a bad thing, another thing Noct _appreciates_ about Prompto so damn much – and fumbling, but by now? Noct knows _just_ how to crook his fingers to have Prompto gasping into the mattress, rocking his ass back to eagerly pull Noct’s fingers deeper.

 

“Feel good?” Noct teases, because he knows it does, and he twists his fingers, spreading the slickness inside, working Prompto open further, before he crooks them again, pressing the tips of his fingers directly into Prompto’s prostate. It earns him another gasp, needier, and Prompto seems torn about whether to rock back and fuck himself on the fingers filling him up, or to thrust forward, desperate for more contact on his aching, cock. His ass is high and open though, and there’s only air, no real sense of satisfaction, there.

 

“Noct—” Prompto whines, but before Noctis can say anything, he’s rapidly correcting himself, “— _highness,_ fuck, stop teasing, s’not fair…”

 

Noctis laughs. A third finger joins the first two, stretching the rim of Prompto’s ass wider. They’re moving quick, but Prompto can handle it. They’re young and dumb and absolutely, horrendously in love. More than that, they have raging hormones and an apartment all to themselves. They do this _a lot._

 

“Begging already, Prom? I expected better,” Noct teases, his voice lowering as he breathes hot against the delicious curve of Prompto’s spine, leaning over him. His fingers twist, spreading Prompto wide, and it has to burn some, but the pain-pleasure goes right to Prompto’s cock, and he’s rocking back again, thrusting against Noct’s fingers, pulling them in deeper.

 

“ _Please,”_ Prompto breathes out, and Noct rewards him with another sharp curl of his fingers, another stab to his prostate, and then he’s withdrawing. Prompto’s trembling, his thighs already shaking from the exertion, from the desire. Noctis reaches for the lube again as he lifts up, settling on his knees behind Prompto, spreading a fresh wave of slick over his cock, stroking it slow and lazy, his fingers circling the ridge underneath the head.

 

“You always get so greedy. One of these days, I swear, Prom, I’m gonna teach you some patience,” Noctis says, and there’s an iciness to his voice, a very sincere hint of threat in there. Prompto only whines in response, his hips lifting, and it makes Noct smile, though it’s a smile that doesn’t quite extend to violet-glowing eyes.

 

Prompto looks fucking good like this. He’s got a _fantastic_ ass, and the angle shows off the wide jut of his hips and his narrow waist. One cheek is slightly red from earlier, and his entrance is puffy, glistening and wet, absolutely _inviting._ Noct pulls his slick hand away from his cock and thumbs over Prompto’s rim, appreciating the way it flutters, _begging._

 

“You know what to say,” Noct says, because even though they’re playing at a dynamic here, falling into certain roles, he _has_ to say it. Even though, of course, he knows Prompto won’t. They both know.

 

“Just fuck me already,” Prompto hisses, rocking back again when Noct’s hand drops lower, when he’s rubbing his fingers over Prompto’s perineum and giving his balls a quick squeeze. Prompto’s cock is aching, hard and needy, dripping a thin, sticky mess of precome onto the sheets, and that’s hot as hell, too.

 

“Fine,” Noct laughs, breaking the role for just a moment, and then he’s pulling away. It’s just for a moment though, because then he’s gripping at Prompto’s hip _hard_ with one hand, enough to bruise, enough to make Prompto whimper. His free hand’s lining himself up, and then Noct’s hips are snapping forward, and they’re _both_ making obscene, needy sounds as he drives in.

 

“Fuck,” Prompto’s gasping, or at least, Noct thinks that’s what he’s saying. It’s hard to tell, really, because his voice is muffled, his face pressed into the mattress. He’s trying to thrust back, but Noct’s got a hand heavy on his hip, holding him still, the other hand gripping tight at Prompto’s ass, holding him spread open. It’s rough and it’s frantic, and he barely gives Prompto more than a few moments to adjust, before Noct’s thrusting forward, burying himself to the hilt. It’s good, and Prompto’s tight and _so_ hot, gripping his cock, clenching around him.

 

Prompto’s saying something into the mattress—it might be a string of moans, or curses, or maybe just Noct’s name, like a mantra. Noctis isn’t sure. He’s not entirely sure he cares, either, because he’s needed _this._ He’s needed Prompto, he’s needed release, and now it’s being offered to him. Prompto’s desperately trying to arch back, to draw Noctis in deeper, but he’s not giving him any of that, either.

 

“Mine,” Noct murmurs, and he’s not even really, entirely aware that he’s doing it, ” _mine.”_ His hips snap forward, and he gets the angle just right, and Prompto cries out; the sound is loud, needy, and even the mattress can’t muffle it. His finger are desperately gripping for purchase on the bed, clawing at the blankets, whole body trembling as his knees threaten to give out.

 

“Highness,” Prompto gasps, his head tipping to the side, his voice scratchy, breath coming all tripped and in harsh, shallow breaths as he gasps for air, and somehow, that simple word, that simple _title,_ is all that it takes for Noct to completely lose it.

 

The world goes a little blurry, Noct’s vision crackling violet around the edges, and he leans in, biting hard at Prompto’s shoulder. There’s the salt of sweat on his lips, bitter copper in his mouth, and it only pulls Noctis further. His cock’s throbbing as he rocks inside again, another perfectly angled thrust, and suddenly, Prompto really _does_ collapse. Noct’s grip on his hip can’t hold him up, and they both go down into a heavy sprawl on the bed, Prompto pressed full-bodied into the mattress, Noct’s weight pinning him down.

 

“Please,” Prompto gasps, as Noct’s lips move, as he layers kisses and bites and nips along his shoulder, burying his face in the back of his neck, nuzzling into sticky-sweaty hair clinging there. Some distant part of Noctis is half-concerned about crushing Prompto, but instead, he’s rolling his hips, fucking into him, with smooth, deep thrusts, constant, unyielding, his chest pressed into the curve of Prompto’s back, one hand heavy on his hip, the other working between them, wedging under Prompto’s body and curling around his cock.

 

Prompto’s slick and leaking, rutting his hips into the bed, then back against the drive of Noct’s thrusts, and he’s trembling all-over. When Noct starts stroking him, awkward and rough with the angle, because there’s not enough room to do it properly, Prompto gasps and his cock twitches desperately. It doesn’t matter that it’s a messy, bad handjob, because Noctis is fucking into him, driving against his prostate, and Prompto’s already a needy, overstimulated mess.

 

It never lasts as long as Noctis wants it to, not when they properly get down to fucking. Sometimes, he gets in the mood to _torture_ Prompto. Sometimes, Prompto asks for it, and then Noct edges him until he’s desperate, until he’s leaked a thick pool all over his belly, and he can barely even string two words together.

 

Right now, though, Noct’s achingly hard, and he’s so close, and Prompto feels _amazing._ He works his cock harder, faster, buried to the hilt and rolling his hips, and they’re both _close._

“Noct,” Prompto gasps out, suddenly, arching sharply, even with Noct’s weight pressing him down, and there’s a twitch of heated flush under Noct’s fingers, the spurt of mess over him. Prompto’s gasping out a bunch of strangled sound, and there’s a definite “ _highness”_ in there, all needy and high-pitched, and that’s all it takes for Noctis.

 

That’s all it _ever_ fucking takes.

 

He slams in, drives home again, and suddenly, Noct’s orgasm is exploding over him. It’s a burst of violet light before his eyelids, lighting up the world, exploding in his brain and tingling all through his body as it ripples, as it intensifies. His cock’s twitching, Prompto’s sensitive inner walls gripping him and milking him through his release. Noct’s pretty sure he’s gasping Prompto’s name, that he’s claiming him again (“mine, always _mine”)_ but coherent thought is beyond him, and then he’s breathing heavily, lips pressed to Prompto’s shoulder, kissing lines and patterns, over and over again, as he tries to remember how to breathe.

 

They stay like that for a while, Prompto’s neck craned to the side as he gasps at fresh air, Noct’s fingers stroking at Prompto’s hip, slow, lazy patterns. Finally, slowly, he withdraws, and rolls to the side. He’s still mostly dressed, and his pristine dress shirt is ruined, wet with sweat and clinging to him, and somehow – Noct has _no idea how –_ one of the buttons has been torn loose. He laughs and shakes his head, and trembling fingers undo the buttons. The fancy shirt acts as a really shitty rag as Noct dips it into the cleft of Prompto’s ass and down between both their thighs, cleaning them.

 

Prompto makes a whining sound, and slowly rolls onto his side, too, pressing his back into Noct’s now-exposed, bare chest. Noctis balls up the shirt and tosses it away, and then an arm curls around Prompto’s waist, fingers stroking over his belly.

 

“Hey,” he says, slowly, and Noct’s voice is rough. “… you okay? Want anything?”

 

“Hey, yourself,” Prompto replies. If Noct’s voice was rough, Prompto’s is outright wrecked, his throat probably raw from all the noise he’s been making. “… water. Maybe a bath? In a bit, though. Just...” and he doesn’t finish that sentence, but he reaches down, a hand settling over where Noct’s is splayed warm across his belly, and holds him there.

 

Noctis doesn’t need to ask what Prompto wants, here. And honestly, it’s just what he wants, too.

 

“Yeah. Like this for a while, then?” Noct says, quietly, pressing his lips into Prompto’s shoulder. Prompto nods, and then cranes his neck, head tipping to the side, nuzzling into his cheek.

 

“Like this. Hey, Noct?”  


“Hmm?” Noctis blinks, because Prompto sounds, just for an instant, like he’s uncertain, maybe a bit afraid, and that’s the exact opposite of what he wants here.

 

“You said… a thing. During,” Prompto says, quietly, his hand flexing over Noct’s, twining their fingers together. At the same time, he’s pressing himself back a little more urgently, like he can’t get enough contact.

 

“You said a lot of things, too, y’know,” Noctis teases back. “ _Highness.”_

 

Prompto flushes, and it makes Noct smile one of those quiet, lazy smiles, one that _does_ go all the way to his eyes, still tinged with violet and shining faintly as the final bits of Lucian magic swirl through his veins, ready to go dormant again until the next time Noctis calls upon it.

 

“You get off on being called Highness,” Prompto retorts.

 

“Only when you do it,” Noctis replies, and Prompto groans, aiming a playful swat over his shoulder with his free hand, the one that isn’t tangled with Noct’s, smacking him lightly right across the cheek.

 

“Better be only me!” Prompto says, and they both laugh a little, and fall back into silence.

 

Noct, though, he thinks he knows what Prompto’s talking about. It’s hard, and it’s pushing boundaries, even for them, even for a couple of idiot teenagers in love who are already pushing, quite literally, every single forbidden boundary. None of this is possible, and he’s going to end up in a political marriage, and he hasn’t even told Prompto about that—

 

“You’re mine,” Noctis says, instead of voicing any of the concerns, because what the fuck are boundaries anymore, at this point? They’re already in way over their heads. They’re curled together, post-sex, muttering sweet nothings about a future that can’t exist. And even if Noct has broken this bit of news to Prompto? He has to know. Noctis is the crown prince, and he’ll be king, and maybe if he’s lucky, he’ll end up with a wife who’s okay with him keeping a consort on the side, but that’s—it’s an issue that Noct’s teenage self isn’t ready to deal with. And it’s certainly not what he wants.

 

Prompto is _everything._

“Yours,” Prompto agrees, immediately, shattering any thoughts, because his hand is squeezing fiercely at Noct’s, and he tips his head again, their eyes meeting, even if the angle’s awkward, and there’s a determination in Prompto’s eyes, a sharpness there that Noct’s not sure if he’s ever seen before. “Forever, Noct. No matter what happens. _Yours, highness.”_

The word, it’s one that Noct fucking gets off on, but there’s never been such a spread of warmth all through him with the title, and be damned, Noct’s never appreciated being called that quite so much.

 

\---

 

Thirteen fucking years later, Prompto calls him “Majesty,” his face pressed into a pillow, in a very fancy, restored royal quarter of the citadel. It’s a big, fancy bed, and they have fancy, intricate little rings around their fingers. They’re older, and wiser, and a hell of a lot sadder, scarred with spectral blades and the result of ten years of hunting daemons while the world is dark. There’s no more violet magic sparking through him, only the press of warm bodies, of lips, and the taste of sweat, the creak of the bed, and the distant city lights of a semi-restored city sparkling through the massive window. Despite all that, Noct realizes, all over again, that he doesn’t mind that particular title, either.

 

“Yours,” and this time, Noctis says the words.

 

“Mine,” Prompto agrees, “majesty, you’re _mine.”_

 

And they belong to each other.

**Author's Note:**

> yeahhh it got sappy at the end, I WANT THEM TO BE HAPPY, LET THEM BE HAPPY.  
> anyway, thanks for sticking with my 7k words of porn. as always: twitter @thatdest; tumblr @destatree. blame numi for this fic, because i think she was the one who told me to write this idek.


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